


Song of the Sea

by ticklishivories



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Set in Canon Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5555876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticklishivories/pseuds/ticklishivories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voices whisper across the water when the moon rises. The waves sing a sinister melody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> this is my secret santa gift to dri on twitter. i'm really sorry it's late! there were a lot of amazing artists in this exchange and i thought you deserved something as good as a piece of their art. i worked myself to tears to make it perfect and i really, really hope you like it.
> 
> edited by the amazing bullfinch, who was so patient and extremely helpful! (srsly i would have given up without them they are super great)

 

Yes, this is a good idea, he told himself as he rented out the boat in Lowtown.

Yes, this is a good idea, he repeated as he sent a letter to Fenris’ mansion, inviting him to the docks for a romantic evening at sea.

Yes, going on a day’s long voyage alone with Fenris on a stormy evening was certainly a perfect idea.

It was a flawless plan, sailing a boat for the first time in his life so their anniversary would be extra special.

Fenris would absolutely, most certainly love it.

“I detest you and everything about you. Do not speak to me again.”

Hawke chased him across the sand, but Fenris was stalking away too quickly. “Listen, I understand that all those things you said were true, more or less–”

“More or less?” he hissed, spinning around and nearly letting Hawke smash into him. “What fool in their right mind would think it right to buy a boat and _captain_ it themselves?”

“I didn’t think you’d want any strange company,” Hawke muttered. “And I didn’t buy the boat, I rented it.”

Fenris scoffed. “Perfect. Now that it’s smashed to splinters, you’ll be required to pay full price for the boat.” He threw his hands in the air, snarling. “Lucky for you, we won’t be making it off this blasted island to pay the sorry oaf back.

“We’ll get off this island. Someone has to notice the Champion’s gone missing.”

“And who, pray tell, will be willing to spend the money on a search party, since you so efficiently told no one your plans to take us to this blasted island so we’d be thoroughly _‘alone’_?”

Hawke opened his mouth then shut it. Fenris sent him a wilting glare, and he paced back and forth, keeping his fists balled up at his sides when they weren’t thrown in the air. Then he turned again and set off across the beach.

“I’m going to look for water. You should find food.”

Hawke watched him go. The further Fenris got away the more Hawke’s shoulders slumped. Alone, he looked back at his mess and sighed.

He knew Fenris loved the sea. He loved the blue water and the reflection of the sun on the horizon. Hawke never missed how the elf sometimes paused on the Wounded Coast, just to admire the water crashing against the cliffs. He was enthralled by its mystery and often read books about worlds at the edge of where the ocean met the sky. He’d never been on a trip like this; Hawke wanted to give him that.

It was still pouring. There was no use for his armor so he stripped it off. Food, right– he was starved. With all the vegetation there was sure to be something to eat. Hawke pushed through the trees and foliage. The heaviest drops of rain slipped through the canopy of leaves and repeatedly smacked him in the face. The humidity was thicker here. Sand quickly turned to mud, and like the Wounded Coast everything looked the same. He only knew he was not walking in circles by the steady incline. Distantly, he heard the soft babbling of a stream, filling with rainwater. Good.

He electrocuted the first animal to dart within his vision. Hawke took the nug by its hind legs and carried it back to the beach. Hopefully Fenris had already returned with water. But he was not there, so Hawke stayed under a slouching palm tree to keep out of the downpour. Being cold and wet helped him think through his poor choices.

He’d made the decision to rent the boat for a day and thought a captain would interfere with the vigorous lovemaking he’d planned. Fenris was apprehensive to board the boat, even under the assumption that there’d be an experienced seaman sailing it. When he realized Hawke deliberately chose not to hire a skipper, resulting in their ‘detour’ miles off the Wounded Coast and ‘docking’ on an uninhabited island, Fenris explicitly detailed every poor choice Hawke had ever made in his life for about an hour before cooling down.

The storm was also his fault, somehow. He swore things would’ve been all right if it hadn’t been so windy, but he lost control of the rudder and crashed into a spiky cluster of jutting rocks off the coast of the island. They were alright– Fenris’ calves were a little cut up from scraping against the rocks while trying to swim to shore, and Hawke might’ve swallowed too much water– but they were safe.

They’d have to wait till the rain stopped to start a signal fire– but even if someone saw it the chances of rescue were slim. Maybe they could craft a raft from the pieces of the boat. But Hawke’s crafting skills only reached to about small birdhouses and fences. Possibly rooftops. There wasn’t any skill needed beyond that in Lothering. Fenris would be the same.

By nightfall the rain had stopped. He was grateful that it’d kept the air humid. They didn’t have enough to keep warm. At least there was a fire; he had the nug roasting on a spit. Alone with the ocean, Hawke stared out at it blankly. The water looked like obsidian in the moonlight.

His eyes felt heavy. Hawke blinked slowly. The waves lulled, rushing onto shore then retreating shyly, like a tease. He wondered if it was too late to take a dip.

Hawke shook his head. What an absurd thought.

Fenris emerged through the shadows of the trees, holding four sacks sagging with water. Hawke rubbed his eyes and grinned in greeting. He turned over the nug, reviving the flame that had been dying.

Fenris plopped on the sand beside him wordlessly. Their eyes met, and in the red glow of the fire Hawke could see how dirty and tired he was. But the glare Fenris pointed at him was deadly. Suddenly, laughter rose up in his chest.

“What on earth is it?” Fenris asked, but his glare became forced as a smile struggled at his lips. Hawke slouched over himself, his shoulders bouncing and his hand covering his mouth, until Fenris shoved him into the sand and he was laughing at the stars.

“I can’t believe– I can’t believe I thought it was a good idea to buy a boat. I can’t believe I crashed it and we’re here on our anniversary. I can’t– it hurts–”

“There’s nothing humorous about the situation you’ve put us in,” Fenris shot, but he couldn’t maintain his anger and released a few chuckles. Hawke’s giggles were dying off and he stayed lying on his back, too tired to move.

The fire died without Hawke’s supplication. The wet wood snuffed it out in seconds. Hawke stared at the sky. A sense of serenity washed over him. It was dark, and quiet despite the noises creeping from the inner island, but calm. He could fall asleep. His eyes were closing when he looked over at Fenris, who was standing slowly.

“I’m going to soak these cuts.”

He left the water and his armor. Hawke watched him walk the beach, toeing the wet sand. His lyrium brands glowed in the moonlight. He edged towards the water, the waves rushing up curiously to meet him. The water foamed at his feet as he stepped in.

Hawke couldn’t keep his eyes open. Warmth and calm blanketed him. As if Fenris had come to lie against him, his weight and heat pressed to Hawke’s body. He let his eyes drift shut. Fenris was knee deep in water.

The sun surprised him, as if he hardly slept. There was sand in his eyes and smalls. And his mouth. Hawke leaned over and spat, feeling dry and rusty. He snatched the water skin and tipped it back, letting it soak his cracking lips and drip down his eyes and beard.

“You had better not be wasting that water.”

Fenris was scaling a fish with a pocketknife. He sat by the fire pit, his legs crossed and his back stiff. The scales scattered over the sand at Hawke’s feet. Hawke got up and inched closer to him until his forehead leaned on Fenris’ shoulder.

“Still angry with me?”

“Do you have to ask?”

Hawke played with the silver hair at Fenris’ nape.

“Next year, all I ask is a quiet evening at your estate. No surprises, no extravagant gifts.”

“Can I at least bring you a pie?”

“You may.”

Hawke leant up and kissed his cheek, mumbled a sheepish apology and resumed his spot on Fenris’ shoulder. Fenris suggested they rekindle the fire, and when the fish was properly roasted they picked over the bones together.

The destroyed boat brought debris to shore, mostly splinters, but they were able to use some of the scraps to make a shelter. When it drizzled later that afternoon they kept dry under the wooden panels and trees. Soon the rain stopped and the water was high enough for Hawke to swim out to the boat and salvage more supplies.

There were blankets (and chocolate that Fenris refused), but no flares or instructions in case of emergencies.

“Whoever rented this out to you must have wanted you to die,” Fenris muttered, his frustration flaring again after the second trip Hawke made out to the boat, returning only with a crate of liquor. “Possibly from alcohol poisoning.”

“Probably!”

Hawke shook water droplets from his hair. Fenris passed him the water skin and he chugged it eagerly.

Fenris seemed more agreeable than the day before. Quieter, at least. He’d come to the island angry, understandably, prone to short responses and bouts of long, glaring silences that spoke louder than any lecture. But now it felt like his anger had gone entirely. He was just so…quiet. And only after a day of being stranded. Hawke would’ve preferred the yelling to the blank stare he aimed towards the water.

As he was doing now. Fenris sat perfectly still, his eyes glazed over and the jade of his irises dimmed. Hawke had to call him twice before he answered.

“You alright?”

Fenris pulled his gaze away from the water. He nodded at Hawke, but he lacked focus. Hawke frowned and pushed the water skin into his chest.

“Drink. You look dehydrated.”

Fenris took it without complaint and downed the rest. He went back to staring at the water as Hawke started a signal fire.

 

White smoke billowed high into the evening sky. No ship had come, and they both thought it best to douse it before bed. With little else to do they popped open the liquor crate and passed a bottle between them. They huddled in their shelter shoulder to shoulder, and by the time the bottle was empty they were flushed and stealing kisses. The moon shined on the water. Hawke knew Fenris was staring at it as Hawke’s mouth trailed down his neck.

“…You keep staring at the ocean.”

He felt Fenris’ hum against his lips. “It’s beautiful. You picked a marvelous place to be marooned.”

Hawke moved up and kissed his temple, but took the opportunity to look at his eyes. They were distant, hazed in a way that unsettled him. Fenris cupped his cheek when the kisses stopped.

“What are you looking at?”

Hawke shook his head, calmed by Fenris’ soft smile, and felt it grow as their lips met.

He lowered Fenris onto the tarp. Their touches were calm, unrushed. When the fire was extinguished they were asleep, Fenris on his back and Hawke’s arm over his chest. The moon wavered over the water.

It was quiet.

Hawke did not hear Fenris breathing beside him. When his eyes cracked open he was cold and exhausted. Arms empty, he sat up and turned, finding it dark and the moon’s reflection distended across the horizon.

“Fenris?”

Gone. Not too unusual, Fenris sometimes liked to wander if he got antsy. Hawke shook away the sleepiness and left the shelter to look for him.

He didn’t like how stale the air felt. Humidity lurked from the island, crawling on his skin like the sweat that seeped from his pores. Too quiet, too still. It reminded him of Lothering, just before the Blight. He kept as far from the trees as possible as he walked the beach.

There. Hawke picked up his pace.

Fenris stood waist deep in water. It did not ripple from his body. He was unmoving, a pillar of marble shadowed black by the white moon.

The closer Hawke came the slower he ran, until he drew to a stop. His voice caught in his throat.

He couldn’t move. He wanted to Fenris for an eternity. His eyes glazed, his heart slowed. The blood under his skin cooled pleasantly. He could be content to stand there forever, as Fenris watched the moon and the path it lit across the ocean in front of him. He would have happily rotted where he stood. If Fenris hadn’t moved.

He moved, and the calm was broken. Hawke ran to him.

_“Fenris!”_

Fenris had taken a step further. He waded deeper into open water and the ripples parted for him welcomingly. No matter how desperately Hawke called out to him he did not pause or turn. The ocean when he jumped in was so cold he hissed, and the shivers rattled up his body and escaped in another wavering shout of Fenris’ name. He pushed out, the water fighting him, reaching for his hand blindly as the moon’s light darkened to a sinister overcast shadow–

Snagged his wrist. Fenris snapped back and stared at him.

For a moment Hawke was sure Fenris would kill him. He’d seen those cold, hateful eyes, but never directed at him. Never such bloodlust. Hawke snatched his hand back, feeling a cold chill race down his spine.

But then Fenris’ eyes widened, filling with clarity. He looked at Hawke and at the water and the moon, lost, wrapping his arms around his chest as his teeth began to rattle.

“W-Why are we out here? What happened?”

Chest deep and freezing, Hawke struggled to answer beyond staring dumbly. He shook his head and took his wrist again, pulling him back to shore. “Let’s get out of this fucking water first.”

Hawke was afraid to light a fire; he felt eyes on them, hiding in the shadows whenever he turned his back. Instead he bundled them together in a blanket and huddled close to Fenris, who eagerly leaned into his side. Fenris’ skin was alarmingly cold and clammy, much colder than his own. Hawke cast a heat spell and pressed his hands to Fenris’ back, waiting for his shivering to subside.

“This island is haunted.”

Hawke leaned back just enough to look at Fenris. His hands did not leave his body.

“I hear…singing, coming from the ocean. When the moon rises it calls to me.”

Hawke swallowed. That sounded like red lyrium. Thinking about it made his stomach lurch. “That’s…not good.”

Fenris laughed, low and humorless. His eyes were getting that glassy, distant gleam again. Hawke cupped his face and made them look at each other.

“Look at me, Fenris. I’ll start another signal fire tonight. We’re getting off this island, as soon as possible.”

Hawke kissed him, sealing their promise, and sighed when Fenris finally slid his arms around his neck.

 

They started the fire immediately. It was a small comfort to see the smoke rise again. He had no staff, only the dagger used to scale the fish, but he wore his armor. Fenris slept soundly on his lap. Hawke absently combed his fingers through Fenris’ locks and glared at the ocean.

Hawke had tried to talk about what happened, but Fenris complained of being too cold and tired, so the conversation had ended. He left Hawke alone with his festering worries.

With the red firelight bathing the sand, the moon’s glow was not so overwhelming.

Hawke barely slept.

He’d nod off and wake with a start, immediately check that Fenris was still there then go back to watching the water. He wanted to sleep. His heart still beat too slow, his thoughts too muddy for his liking. Hawke should have been alert, but the warm fire, the gentle rhythm of Fenris’ breathing, the waves, tempted his eyes to stay closed.

He’d splash some water on his face. He refused to sleep no matter how tired he became.

The sun reluctantly dragged itself into the sky that morning. The threat felt less imminent, and Hawke, with numb, tingly legs, moved himself from under Fenris and lay down. Maybe he could steal a few moments of sleep. As he did, Fenris woke.

“Were you…. awake the entire night?”

Hawke nodded. He was afraid to look at Fenris’ eyes, but he made himself, and flooded with relief as Fenris peered down at him with clear, lucid worry. Hawke reached for him.

“Whatever you do, do not go near that water.”

Fenris nosed his palm. “I will not be so easily taken again.”

They had a clear plan now; water, food, stay away from the ocean. Someone at all times had to be by the signal fire to watch for ships. It was Hawke who volunteered to stay on the beach the most.

“Did it not occur to you to bring a staff, or weapons of any kind?” Fenris asked when he returned with food and more kindling. He looked so much better with a tan than Hawke did; his skin browned richly like bread, while the top of Hawke’s cheeks fried to an angry tomato red. He couldn’t escape the harsh sun even inside the shelter, and the heat was getting to him.

“I didn’t think of it, no. Are you surprised at this point?” Hawke snapped. Doing nothing made him feel useless, itchy. He continued drawing angry circles into the sand as if it’d quicken their escape off the island.

Fenris pursed his lips. He sat down, just short of brushing their shoulders together.

“Would you like to play a game?”

Hawke glanced him. “A game? What sort?”

Fenris grinned. “A simple one. I taught it to the younger slaves when they grew rowdy.”

Being compared to a rowdy child cooled his temper a bit. Hawke faced Fenris and offered his hands as he was told.

It helped tremendously with the boredom. He’d say being stranded wasn’t so bad, if he had a book or something more entertaining to hunt than a nug. But there was nothing other than the trees and the ocean.

Fenris was faster than him, and caught Hawke’s hands while he was distracted.

“That’s three. I win.”

Hawke snatched Fenris’ hands up, gripping him tight. “One more time.”

They kept themselves busy. The day had gone. No ships had come, and they doused the fire. The more daylight that was lost the tenser Hawke grew. He kept his eyes on Fenris at all times.

Hawke taught him the games he knew as a child, and it brought up memories of his father and the farm. He told Fenris about his favorite hiding place, whenever he and his brother played Mages and Templars.

“A simple name for a simple game?” Fenris chuckled. They’d gotten into the liquor crate again.

Hawke smiled. “I was always the Mage, even though I wanted to be the Templar. I’d hide from him in a cave by the river, and it was _always_ infested with spiders. The little ones didn’t bother me, but once I ran out running from a giant, poisonous one, and Carver tripped me, just to win the game! And then we both ran home from the thing and our father killed it.” Hawke snorted. “He smacked us both for playing near that cave. Of course, we went back the next day.”

Fenris smiled and tipped back the bottle. He wore nothing other than his trousers and the red band, and Hawke’s eyes wandered down his lyirum brands.

“You would return to such a place?” Fenris said.

Hawke shrugged. “The thrill of danger, forbidden hideouts. It was an adventure.”

The waves interrupted their silence. Hawke moved closer. He rested his hand on Fenris’ thigh, leaning back against the wall of the shelter.

“…Do you think it’s red lyrium that’s calling to you?”

Fenris sighed. “I don’t know. My memory when I try to recall it is blurred. But it’s possible.”

“What is the singing like?” Hawke hiked up his knees toward his chest. “Is it a melody you recognize?”

That made Fenris pause. He was looking at the moon again.

“Maybe. When I hear it, I feel…calm. A dream that I never wish to wake from, or something of the sort. ”

He spoke so casually, with no trace of fear, or concern. Hawke’s hand tightened on his thigh.

“You’re not going near that water again. I’ll tie you to a tree if I have to.”

Fenris laughed and passed him the bottle. Hawke refused it.

There was no humor in what he said. He meant it. A monster that he could neither see nor fight, a thing that Fenris was particularly susceptible to, terrified him. He was exhausted but he’d keep awake to watch Fenris. It was Hawke’s fault they were there in the first place.

The least he could do was make sure Fenris didn’t drown himself.

For two nights, Hawke stayed awake. His favorite thing to keep himself busy was fishing, although it was more of a game than a means for food without materials for a rod. He’d stand knee deep in the water by the cluster of rocks that destroyed the ship. The fish were playing with him as well. Unfortunately, Fenris was much better at snatching up fish with his bare hands.

But Fenris was forbidden from going near the shore like a punished child. He didn’t mind; rather, he didn’t say anything.

They had a signal fire going almost constantly, but no ship ever came. Hawke slept during the day when he could, and Fenris stayed by his side.

And still, Fenris was quiet.

His words would die mid-sentence. He’d be talking animatedly, they’d be laughing, he’d use his hands for vague gestures– then he’d stop. He would pause as if something occurred to him, something odd, and then he’d look away from Hawke and at the ocean.

His eyes would gaze far away, as if he were recalling his past.

“Fenris,” Hawke whispered the second time it happened. He was afraid to touch him. “Fenris, what is it?”

And he’d look back, blink, and shake his head. “It’s nothing.”

Hawke couldn’t get any more words out of him, no matter how hard he pressed. He strained to keep his worry from turning to frustration and anger.

Other times, Fenris would smile and laugh so suddenly that Hawke would think it a scream. He appeared drunk, or even love-struck. Hawke had a much harder time calming him then. He could do nothing other than hold him while Fenris’ shoulders shook uncontrollably with feverish giggles.

Moments like that helped Hawke stay awake at night.

He woke with a massive headache on the third day. His sunburn was starting to peel, and his shoulders ached from lying on the sand. The sun shined west and it was blistering hot. He found Fenris sitting alone on the beach, the waves coming up to tease his toes.

Fenris was humming. The pocketknife rested by his hip.

A cold sweat broke out on Hawke’s neck. He approached him slowly and silently. He felt that, if he called Fenris’ name, his lover would not be the one to answer.

“Hawke.”

Hawke nearly jumped out of his skin. He stilled as Fenris turned around.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

His eyes–

Fear seized Hawke’s stomach.

“…I thought I’d give you a break from watching for ships. You can head back to camp now.” Hawke swallowed.

Fenris considered him. Dead, loveless eyes drifted toward the water. Hawke focused on the dagger. Maybe if he grabbed it now, Fenris wouldn’t be able react quickly enough to–

But Fenris stood, leaving the dagger in the sand.

“I’ll fetch dinner.”

Hawke did not breathe deeply until Fenris was long gone.

He kept the dagger nearby. Hawke was better off with it, if Fenris wanted to kill him. Or himself.

He spent the rest of the day attempting to make a raft. There was rope from some of the junk he’d scavenged, and the boat’s mast was still usable. Hawke vented his confusion and fears onto the raft that continuously gave him rope burns and splinters. He swore and worked tirelessly till dusk, nearly setting it on fire several times.

It was not close to being finished, but he stopped when Fenris returned. Hawke retreated back to camp, avoiding his gaze.

“I’ve been working on a raft. Will you help me finish it in the morning?”

Fenris did not reply. Hawke sighed and sat in their shelter, facing away from him.

While Fenris slept, Hawke watched the water.

The moon was beautiful.

Hawke remembered being a child; the moon on the river, ribbons of white light. The silver scales of trout glinting like stars. He’d lie for hours by the stream.

Hawke let out a breath and closed his eyes.

Bethany loved that river. She and Hawke would practice their magic there, away from the village.

He saw her now, her rosy cheeks and bright smile beside the water. It was a sleepy evening, far past their bedtime. She chased Carver downstream. He was slower than her. The moon watched with Hawke as he lied in the grass. The glow was so bright; Hawke could see them perfectly in the dark.

He was so tired.

He let his head rest against his arms. Bethany and Carver’s laughter dimmed.

_Sleep._

Everything was calm. Bethany and Carver were safe.

He reached over on the grass, expecting to grasp someone’s hand.

No one was there.

_Sleep._

Hawke strained to push down the exhaustion. He felt wrong. Missing– who was missing?

He was tired.

His fingers slipped through the blades of grass, trying to grip it, ground himself, but they’d dip through like air, like–

Water.

_Fenris._

His eyes flew open and he shot up, slamming his head into the roof of the shelter. Hawke cupped the forming bruise on his forehead with a grimace and scanned the beach, the shelter, noticing with sinking terror that the fire had long since gone out.

How long was he asleep?

He scrambled to pull on his armor. The knife, the knife– he scattered sand into the air searching for it, a glint in the moonlight like trout–

There. He grabbed it and stood.

Hawke confronted the ocean. The full moon loomed over the water. He shivered. Hairs rose on the back of his neck, goose bumps down his arms. Something was still whispering to him, right in his ear, and he swatted at the invisible voice.

_Sleep._

He had to find Fenris. Hawke ran the length of the beach, magic tingling at the tips of his fingers, charging the air with electricity.

_Fenris is alright. Sleep._

Humming. He skidded to a stop, searching frantically for the noise. The urge to lie down and sleep forever, the need to shut his hands over his ears and forget, overwhelmed him.

“Fenris!”

Hawke shouted. The waves swept angrily across the sand, pulling back into the ocean then slamming onto the beach.

He found him. Lyrium glowing, chest deep in black water, smiling. His eyes were closed. The humming grew louder, like the clear, persistent ringing of a bell, as more voices joined in.

A head emerged from the water behind Fenris. Another in front of him. A third, and then arms were sliding up his torso and around his neck.

They were the most frightening women Hawke had ever seen.

The sight of them was enough to make his knees weak. Hawke couldn’t move, entranced, a terrifying beauty he didn’t deserve to witness. Their fingers, webbed, gleamed with a slick skin that coated their arms and chests. Scales armored their necks and stomachs and continued down their bodies. They sang to Fenris, circling him in the water like a dance. Black, bulbous pits for eyes looked into Fenris’ with a profound desire that he reciprocated.

They hummed sweetly, gently took his hands, and dragged him under.

_“Fenris!”_

Hawke screamed his name at the edge of the receding waves. He stepped back, his hand gripped so tight around the knife it trembled, and dove into the water.

 _Freezing._ Numb to the bone in seconds, he nearly gasped in a breath with shock. Hawke gritted his teeth and swam blindly. There was a glow that he could barely see, the familiar shine of Fenris’ lyrium lines, somewhere in front of him that he hoped was close. He locked onto it.

But the glow was dimming. Hawke was not a good swimmer. He flailed, his legs kicking outwards. It was dark, couldn’t see his own hands. The glow was dimming, or getting further away. He didn’t know. Maybe he wasn’t moving, hovering in dead space.

He was so, so tired.

He needed air. His lungs tightened painfully in warning. The water rippled behind Hawke, pushed him forward. Something brushed his leg. His hands cut through the water. The glow flickered. Fenris had to be close. He was close, he knew it.

His lungs had enough. Hawke swam towards the surface. It’d been minutes since he dove in, since his last breath. The moon’s rays pierced the surface; he almost reached it. He was tired. Fingers slid up his arms. He tried to concentrate and sift through the darkness, but a heavy weight wrapped around his legs, dragging him down, deeper, darker. He didn’t struggle.

_Sleep._

Hawke wondered how many hands were on him. Six. Maybe he should be worried. Two around his neck, a soft weight pressed to his back. Two holding his arm. Two slowly caressing his chest and stomach. Fenris, his light far off, slipping away with Hawke’s consciousness.

He was going to lose Fenris. He failed to protect him. He failed.

Hawke took the last of his air and forced it out with an explosive burst of lightning.

The hands around him scattered and the weight constricting his legs released. The voices coaxing his exhaustion vanished and suddenly Hawke was more alert than he had been in days. But his chest _burned,_ his lungs shriveled and empty, and he automatically sucked in a huge gulp of water.

It flooded his lungs and the burn worsened. Then the hands were back, no longer gentle but scathing, voices screeching and deafening, and the glow far off was now burning so bright it blinded him. It shone a brilliant electric blue, and for one infinitesimal flash Hawke saw the creatures. Their rows of enormous teeth were bared, their venomous black eyes enraged, and their clawed hands caught with his flesh, scraping bloody rifts into his arms and legs and chest–

Hawke took the knife and sunk it into the jugular of the creature reaching for his neck. It pierced through the scales and sunk to the hilt. The blood rose like smoke in the water, illuminated by the blue light. Its agonized scream was the last thing Hawke heard, and he grinned.

The light beamed brighter, until the ocean swallowed him.

 

Hawke woke to lips on his and water gushing out of his throat like a fire lit in his lungs. He clutched his burning chest and turned over, coughing and choking and spitting. Tears leaked from his eyes. He tried sitting up but pain ruptured from his ribcage. He gasped and turned on his side again, blood draining from his face.

“Hawke– Hawke, I’m sorry, I…I might’ve broken one of your ribs. Don’t move.”

Fenris’ voice washed over him like a balm. He calmed, the panic ebbing slowly, allowing air to filter through his lungs. Hawke lay back on the sand and let his eyes rest.

“F…Fen…” He sounded like a roasted animal.

“I know, I’m here. You shouldn’t speak, you’ve just coughed up a small pond.”

The salt on his tongue tasted like blood. He felt nauseous. There were deep gashes in his forearms and torso. The bones in his legs bent at odd angles. Warm blood oozed from his wounds.

Fenris’ hands touched his cheeks, the small part of him that didn’t hurt. His fingers trembled. Hawke tried to tell him that he was alright, but what came out was a weak gurgle.

“Shh, I said don’t speak.” His desperation edged on anger. “Hawke, you’re bleeding out. I have no gauzes or stitches. The wound on your chest has to be cauterized.”

Hawke struggled, but forced his eyes open. It was still evening. Sand and salt had dried at the corners of his lids. The sky was lightening; purples changed to washed out grays, and the tide slowed with the fading moon. Hawke’s vision swam. He took a small breath, choked and swallowed before he could cough.

Fenris looked down at him, shadowed by the moonlight haloing his silver hair. Hawke’s heart leapt with joy. He reached up to brush his fingers over Fenris’ cheek.

He smiled and mouthed, ‘Eyes.’

Fenris nodded slowly. “Yes, I see you.”

He bent down and gave Hawke a brief kiss. Hawke did not miss the smudge of blood left on his mouth.

“You’re going to be alright,” Fenris said. Hawke nodded. He was cold and starting to shiver. There was a ripping sound. Fenris hurriedly tied the torn pieces of their blanket around his left arm, then his right, nearly as tight as a tourniquet. Hawke hissed and gritted his teeth.

“They had me,” Fenris muttered. He ordered Hawke to hold his own hand over his wound to staunch the bleeding, while Fenris tried to kindle a flame. He glared at the flint in his hands, striking the stones together but making no spark. Hawke forced another swallow.

“They had me. I willingly went with them, those three ethereal _monsters._ ” Ferocity fueled each strike of the flint. Fenris sneered and spat at the ground. “Disgusting. I’m offended by how easily I was manipulated. Forgive my weakness.”

Hawke’s fingers played with the torn flesh on his chest. It gushed fresh blood when his ribs expanded. Sweat beaded his forehead. He considered vomiting.

Fenris took Hawke’s hand away from the wound and pressed his own to it. Hard. Hawke arched and cried out. He was glad he could still feel pain.

“You…you…” He grimaced. “Hurts.”

“Shh, I know. It’ll be alright, I promise. Can you hear me?”

Hawke nodded, his eyes listless but focusing on Fenris. Attempting to. “Don’t. Don’t leave.”

“Never. I’m right here.” Fenris searched his gaze, eyes gleaming and breath short. Blood seeped from the wound, dribbling around his palm and through the gaps in his digits. “Listen to me, Hawke. I’m not leaving. Stay with me.”

Fenris let in a deep breath. He had the flame burning on a small stick of wood between his fingers. Hawke eyed it fearfully, and placed his own hand over Fenris’ on his chest. It hurt, but Fenris half smiled. “You’ll be glad to know that I killed them all. Their hearts sink to the bottom of the sea as we speak.”

Hawke half smiled back. When the silence grew too heavy Fenris weaved his hand into Hawke’s, still slick with blood.

“Hold tight to me. This will hurt.”

Fenris raised the flame to his wound.

Hawke let out a rattling, torn scream. The flame ate his flesh and seared it black. It _hurt,_ and he begged through his agonized cries for it to stop. But he never let go of Fenris’ hand, even if he couldn’t hear the other’s shushes and gentle, pained apologies. His head slammed against the sand and his nails dug bloody crescents through Fenris’ palm.

His body fell limp, and he slipped under.

 

 

-

A fire flickered. The sun reached through glass to cast its rays on his eyes. Hawke stirred.

“Mmf–”

His body turned over and his stomach sloshed with a sickening upheave. Hawke slapped his hand over his mouth and leaned over the bed. He counted to ten, sweat dripping from his neck and color draining from his cheeks.

“…Hawke?”

Someone stirred beside him. Hawke lay back on the bed when the feeling passed. A hand caressed his bicep.

“If you need to vomit then do so. You’ve swallowed quite a bit of salt water and blood.”

Hawke instinctually placed his hand over the one on his arm, panting, staring at the ceiling. He was on a bed, in the Captain’s quarters, on a boat, and the boat was rocking cruelly as if taunting his upset stomach. Hawke groaned and closed his eyes.

“Please do not tell me that those five days of suffering were a dream.”

Fenris laughed softly. He moved closer to Hawke, pressed his forehead against the side of his chest as Hawke opened his arm to make room.

“No, though I would have preferred it so.”

Fenris’ fingers skimmed the bandage wrapped around his chest. Hawke concentrated on taking deep breaths.

“Why are we…” he began. Fenris understood.

“We are on Isabela’s ship. Apparently Varric saw our signal fire.”

“Why in Andraste’s name did it take so long?”

“They are up on the deck, along with the mage. You can ask them when you are well again.”

Hawke snorted. “She probably didn’t want to risk her precious ship to save my sorry arse.”

Fenris pressed his smile against Hawke’s ribs, and leisurely kissed up his chest. The nausea abated gradually, but remained in low undercurrents that reminded Hawke to be careful. He was slow as he rolled on his side and enveloped Fenris in his bandaged arms. There was no stretch or burn in his wounds.

“Did Anders heal me?” he said, the scent of Fenris’ hair under his nose soothing like lavender.

“Yes. Here, as well.” Fenris pressed his palm to Hawke’s chest. “The creatures did quite a number on you.” He paused, and Hawke looked down to see him staring off to the side. “How did you manage to release me from their spell?”

Hawke blew out a breath, and his fingers reset the fringe above Fenris’ eyes. “Hm. I remember stabbing one.” He was proud of that, couldn’t wait to exaggerate the tale when they returned to the Hanged Man eventually. “But what might have done it was my magic. I electrocuted them and suddenly they were vicious demons.”

The evidence of that scattered down his body– long, angry red scratch marks that stopped at his hips, where the sheets covered his legs. Hawke knew his legs looked terrible, probably already black with bruises.

Still, he did not shy away when Fenris wound their legs together and slung his arm over Hawke’s waist. Hawke breathed him in.

“Do you still wish to throw up?”

“A little.”

Fenris began to move. “I’ll get a bin–”

Hawke grasped his hand and pulled him back down. “Wait for a moment, please? This is the reason I rented out that damned boat in the first place.”

Fenris smirked but melted into him. Everything hurt, and sleeping for several days sounded fantastic, but at least Fenris was holding him.

“Next year I am not stepping foot out of my estate. You’ll be required to come visit me.”

Fenris’ lips brushed the top of Hawke’s head. “Sounds perfect.”

“I’m going to kiss you breathless.” Hawke sat up. “Right after I vomit.”

“You’d better not.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas dri!!! hope you enjoy your holiday vacation!!


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